Your Chance To Be The Martyr

I hope my happiness and all the success I have gathered

Drips into your eyeballs like battery acid,

And you feel twice as smothered,

Even thrice as scared as I was when you put your hands on me.

You told me you liked my eyes,

And honestly, you might have been a little too drunk to notice it,

The burning hate in them, scanning through your petty lies.

Love, I am not a novice.

Take your novocaine and tell your worries to the rain,

They will echo like a gospel dedicated to your pain

Which you so conveniently mask under suede suits –

They give you the power to be rude,

Like nobody’s opinion even matters.

So, I hope it stings when you realize

That this draft has long been finalized.

I hope you learn how many times I have left my dreams at the altar

Just to chase the thread of trauma you tied around my chest.

You wanted to be the bad guy, the defaulter,

To show me my place and screw over the rest.

This is your chance to be the martyr –

One step forward and you will pass the test.

(But I guess I should have known you will never play smarter.

So, enjoy as you get smothered by all the harm you have not confessed.)

-JW